“I’m walking upper west/central park and I just saw a girl with your jacket! Who looked exactly like you!! I stopped right in front of her and had this exclamation of joy on my face… She looked at me like was a crazy aaand I walked away. ;) I felt like an idiot! I miss you friend!!!”—looks like i’ve got some kind of doppelgänger in new york (or maybe it’s the 70% of me i left, including my heart?) since this is exactly what raul told me almost a year ago.
i relive the time i spent in new york in my dreams chronologically, first being a pilot, then mumbling things about “116th st” in my sleep. when people say they understand how much i miss it, i’m thinking what julia said when it came to her love for cheese: NO, I MEAN — YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND
don’t really know what to say about that, just listen to it, go back to the 90’s, lie down on your bed in your blue jeans staring at the ceiling (not even thinking of maybe having a cigarette), feel the urge to put on “wowee zowee” for the millionth time and feel your stomach digesting itself thinking of may 19. watch the simpsons.
dawn the way it’s supposed to be showed up again a few minutes ago, incredibly beautiful in a distopian way — which is pretty much how to describe the weather these days in general. the sunset colors most clouds gray but makes some of them shine in glowing orange, then pink and finally lets the color fade and only leaves a pale pink blue that you probably can’t even see when you don’t remember the former pink. those ten minutes are full of softness and cruelty, they announce the night in its pure darkness that makes you literally see animals’ eyes start glowing and it’s like you’re in an old marvel comic. so intense that they’re sometimes even darker than night itself.
“you are pop!”—sounds way better than ‘you’re okay’ — a phrase that doesn’t make me think of sascha funke anymore but the security guy at JFK who didn’t even need to check my passport to find that out. i couldn’t stop laughing until the plane took off, an air hostess addressing me with “sie” (something you call grown-ups) didn’t make it easier either. i’ll start asking people to call me kid.
so much for having survived the jetlag and so much for feeling winter’s end. i am awake at half past eight and having pizza because i’m hungry for the first time in days and walking down the stairs i saw there’s still new snow daring to rest on our roof coming down every night. good things right now are pizza, dorian (the other cat, yup, i named both of them after the picture of dorian gray’s main characters), the sun (makes the snow sparkle and hopefully disappear soon) and roland appel’s “dark soldier”. the cat’s even trying to get the milk i spilled on the floor.
now after nôze’s “remember love” was stuck in my head for days, the dOP remix of it is completely messing it up — first of all, because it works just the way a good remix should (changing the mood, extending it) and it’s been a while since i last heard a really good remix, but secondly — and now this is the important part — it’s sucking you into a deep black hole. deciphering the lyrics, that were changed, too, you realize that this is the night version of the original song and dirty on a level you haven’t heard before. forget about omar-s’ “set it out” or sid le rock’s/dj koze’s “naked”, this song is more than plain sex, it’s a dangerous affair with your summer love’s younger brother. if guy bourdin and nan goldin were wolfgang tillmans’ parents, his pictures would look the way this song sounds. or to put it this way, this picture by nan goldin’s simply what the song would have sounded like in the 70’s:
thinking of summer and how i’m yearning to get back to new york, next to all those beautiful pictures (watching the sunset from a rooftop, free shows in central park, coming back home in the early morning wearing only a t-shirt, tables outside of cafes, going to work, WORK) there’s only one question in my head: does optimism mean waiting? if it does i’m glad this metrocard tells me to be patient when there’s no other way and to keep my head up instead of losing hope anyway. thanks, MTA.
you can’t imagine how happy i am that we met. going back to germany was harder than i thought it would be and you made it a little easier for the five minutes we knew each other. both of us came here for quite unpleasant reasons (and even if that was different - can leaving new york ever be pleasant?) and your understanding of my need for a cigarette was probably the only thing that stopped me from bursting out in tears at the airport. thank you for being the coincidence that helped me bringing optimism to germany outside of my metrocard, strengthened my faith in me just as in true and everlasting love that makes even the hard times worthwhile and survive that trip thanks to those three cigarettes. you could be the biggest asshole on earth and i would still be glad to have met you.
“DIG MY FINGERNAILS INTO THE ARMPIT OF AMERICA
LET DOWN YOUR HAIR, HANG ON FOR THE RIDE
CONCORDE TAKE-OFF PLASTERED TO THE BACK OF MY SEAT
PINK FINGERNAIL POLISH ON YOUR RIGHT BREAST”—malaria! vs. chicks on speed: kaltes klares wasser (dj koze & the tease rmx 2001)
if my body has to be littered with bruises why can’t they look like the ones in nan goldin pictures, huh? in my opinion winter should be an excuse to stay at home, no matter what you should actually be doing. so as long as i don’t find a heart shaped bruise on my thigh and stairs are life-threatening because of the ice i think i’d rather stay in bed and asleep all day long, you never know who you might meet there.